


That thereby beauty’s rose might never die

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [33]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8347183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Unexpected gifts can teach you much about yourself - and perhaps expose more about the person giving them than they themselves expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set, again, before Mairon’s full fall/defection. But really, now, it’s so close at this point he may as well go ahead and get it over with. Thanks to **Naamah_Beherit** for reading over this for me when I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to post it. I appreciate that very much, my friend. If anyone is interested, the title for this story comes from Shakespeare’s first sonnet.
> 
> Also, I would love to take a few requests, if anyone has any! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Is this really necessary?”

Mairon attempted to turn his head away from Melkor’s large hand, though it continued to hold fast over his eyes, blocking his sight as the Vala led him carefully forward. Their steps were loud together, echoing around a cold room paved with stone that Mairon had not seen before. Obviously Melkor’s entire point.

“Of course it’s necessary,” Melkor retorted easily with a little guffaw that rumbled against Mairon’s back where it met with his chest. “Letting you see would defeat the entire purpose of the surprise.”

Mairon huffed in agitation even as he continued to allow Melkor wordlessly to guide him around some large object he had no concept of, denied of sight as he was. “You keep saying this, _surprise_ , and it is making me rather uncomfortable. Your gifts tend to be...inappropriate, when you act like this.”

Melkor just laughed and, a moment later, came to a stop with Mairon held still just in front of him. Mairon shuffled his feet against the wide, flat stone under his boots in a hopeless attempt to gain his bearings and let out an anxious breath, opening his eyes behind Melkor’s wide palm and seeing nothing but fuzzy light from between the Vala’s fingers that told him nothing of his surroundings. He closed his eyes again in frustration, his lashes brushing against Melkor’s calloused skin and getting stuck in an odd position.

“Okay, really now,” he mumbled. “This is ridiculous. Let go.”

“If you insist.”

Mairon nearly started at the voice near to his ear, lips so close to his neck with his vision still covered, but Melkor drew back again swiftly and withdrew his hand to reveal a newly built forge, spacious and beautiful before them. Mairon stepped forward in bewilderment, blinking rapidly as he took it all in, and touched his hand lightly to a stone hearth. There were several sconces burning on the walls to give enough light to see by, but the room was cold and lifeless, the forge fires unlit.

“What is all this?” he asked, almost breathless as he turned and continued looking around him.

“A gift,” Melkor replied easily as though the answer were obvious, “for you. I wished for you to have a space here. Please tell me of any change that might be required; this is my first endeavor on such a scale.”

Mairon was silent as he absorbed this statement. When Melkor had come to him, hours ago now and flushed with excitement to sweep him away to this bleak stone citadel nestled in mountains so far from the paradisiacal warmth of Almaren, he had come willingly - if with a bit of hesitation. He found himself rather bored out here in the snow and unyielding granite. This creation of black stone and ice had been one of Melkor’s projects for quite a while now, and he had tempted Mairon out to see it several times during the process. It was ever changing: buttresses flying higher, caverns reaching lower, and towers always appearing somewhere new with every visit, touching the soaring peaks of the mountains until the construction had become part of the very landscape. 

The entirety of it, this whole construct, had seemed so cold and foreign to him before, a place to visit yet never to stay long due to the breaking chill and vast reaches of unfamiliarity. He came when Melkor desired for him to see new additions, which was becoming more and more often, but he had never felt any kind of connection to it.

Seeing such a marvel as a newly completed forge had been far from his thoughts of hours before, and it left him lost for words. This was so clearly intended for his own use, not for Melkor’s. Never had he imagined to have a space here in the mountains, in what had been the lone Vala’s sanctuary for time expanding beyond his recognition.

As he paced slowly around a large anvil that was so very perfect for its intended use and caught sight of a small handful of fresh tools, new and hanging on the wall as though waiting for his hand, he paused to take a breath.

“I do not understand,” he whispered, the words still echoing around them in the pristine chamber, so uninhabited and bare of life. “What is the point of this?”

Melkor did not answer right away, taking his time to walk across the room to Mairon’s side. Mairon watched him approach, feeling his heart flutter against his throat with the prospect of what could potentially come as his response. When the Vala finally spoke, it was soft, as though he were considering his thoughts before giving them life.

“Aulë gives you freedom, does he not? With your time in his forge.”

The question caught him off guard, and Mairon narrowed his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said honestly. “To an extent, I suppose. My work for him comes first, and then my work for the other Valar and Maiar. What time I have left is my own to craft as I wish.”

“And you may create whatever you desire there?”

Mairon did not reply, the answer already known to them both.

“This,” Melkor said, turning away with a wide gesture of his arm toward the room, “is yours, Mairon. Yours, to come to whenever you would like. Yours, to use to create whatever you wish to create. There are no boundaries, no regulations. Whether I am here or not, whether you reside in Almaren or no - this forge is _yours_ , not Aulë’s. You are greater than any of them give you the space to be, and you should find it in yourself to hone those skills.”

“And so you are - what, giving me the tools to do so?” Mairon retorted dryly when he did not know what else to say. “I am not sure if it is your place to give a Maia dedicated to another Vala such a scandalous gift.”

Melkor smiled, a thin twisting of his lips that showed a sliver of bright white teeth. It was more predatory than kind, and Mairon’s heart beat faster than it had only a few seconds ago for far different reasons.

“Are you, then?”

“Am I what?” Mairon asked innocently, already knowing the question but wanting Melkor to ask it anyway when he himself refused to answer yet, unwilling to make the first move. He began to walk away again, toward the wall holding those few tools, and turned his back.

“Dedicated to Aulë.”

These words, these questions, had not been spoken aloud between them before. Hinted at, spoken around, and alluded to, yes - but never, _never_ spoken directly. It had been a dangerous thing, living and breathing around them, growing and gaining intensity in a way Mairon had not been expecting. He had always been happy, been pleased to work alongside Aulë from the very beginning. But now...Melkor was changing his opinions about many things, and he was suddenly seeing that he had never been Aulë’s equal, never would be. Not the way he found equality and strength with Melkor. And that, the equality he had found given to him so freely, the strength he found just standing in Melkor’s presence, was something he had always sought without ever realizing it had been missing. 

“I am not sure,” he finally replied. The pleasant banter from before was gone, replaced by a quiet kind of sincerity they both heard.

Melkor nodded and did not chase the subject. Instead he held out a hand when Mairon glanced over his shoulder and beckoned. “Come here. We should light a fire in the hearth, don’t you think? Give this place its heart.”

Mairon approached him without hesitation and Melkor took his hand with enthusiasm. “Do you have flint and kindling ready?” Mairon asked, stepping closer to the hearth to peer inside the large forge. It was, truthfully, masterfully built, and would retain heat wonderfully once a fire was going well enough. There was already pressed coal nearby and several stacks of chopped wood, ready to be stacked inside. Mairon pulled his hand free, noticing distantly how Melkor released him only reluctantly, and knelt to begin readying the pit of the hearth for its first fire. 

“The flint?” he asked again, growing genuinely excited.

“We won’t need any,” Melkor said, putting his hand on Mairon’s shoulder. Mairon glanced around at him, baffled, and Melkor grinned. “Come, stand back.”

Mairon did as requested, getting to his feet once more and standing at Melkor’s side. “Has Aulë truly not taught you how to do this?” the Vala asked. Mairon simply gave him another bemused look and Melkor made a disgusted sound. But he simply shook his head and then nodded toward the hearth, the irritation flickering away. “We will not need flint, you understand, because you will light the fire yourself.”

The excitement leapt in Mairon’s chest and he quickly reined it back in. “Master Aulë - ” 

He hastily stopped the words in his mouth, glancing at the hearth waiting so patiently for flame and then to Melkor again. Words from the past bubbled forth in his mind and he frowned, hearing them spoken kindly but with such stability he had never imagined to think _why_ they were being said. “He told us that he was the only one allowed to create the fires in such a manner, that none of the Maiar would be able to. That even attempting to do so was an act of blasphemy against the Valar and a step out of our stations.”

For a moment it seemed as though Melkor was going to say something scathing, and a furious gleam came into his eyes. But it vanished again a moment later and when he spoke, he was calm. “You are capable of setting a simple fire, Mairon, and so much more than Aulë ever let you realize. And,” he added with a sly smile, “it is not a blasphemous act if a Vala teaches it to you, is it? Come, please. Allow me to show you.”

Mairon took a breath and let it out slowly, considering the offer carefully. Melkor watched him closely, his sharp blue eyes darting over his face so intently Mairon felt as though he could see through to his soul. After only a few fleeting seconds he looked up and nodded once, firmly, his mind decided.

“Face your hearth,” Melkor instructed without further comment. Mairon did as he commanded, glancing around only briefly as Melkor came to stand close behind him, large hands landing heavily - a grounding comfort - on his shoulders. Melkor leaned forward, his face coming to a stop very close to Mairon’s own so that his next words brushed gently against Mairon’s cheek. 

“Now close your eyes and turn your attention inward. Find your soul, Mairon, your fire. Find it burning here.” He paused to remove a hand from Mairon’s shoulder and placed it on his stomach, just under his ribcage. “It is hotter than my own, more intense with its heat. Take a deep breath - yes, just like that - and let it out. Another, and next time, pull that fire up through your body to your chest, here.” 

He moved his hand upward along the line of his sternum to the center of Mairon’s chest, the pressure almost tender under the gentle motion of fingers and palm. “Focus on this, now, and focus on your breath. Simply breathe like this for a moment.”

Mairon listened to those words as he had never listened to anything before. He had felt his energy many times, had felt it for the entirety of his existence, the way the little flame of his soul would always flicker and burn when he worked in the forge, but never had it roared into life so vividly like this, as though he were set aflame with it, and with only such a gentle nudge. It would be so easy to say this was Melkor’s doing, that the Vala’s energy was simply pulling it forth - but he felt Melkor’s energy, humming behind him, and it was restrained, contained as if kept inside a large pool waiting to be touched. Nudging, yes, as it always did, but it was not doing this.

 _This_ \- this was his own creation, and he felt that fire, that strength that was all his own, burning and cultivating and thriving as though it had only been waiting for the gate to open. 

“Do you feel it?” Melkor asked, his lips once again at Mairon’s ear, so close and so calm. So inviting.

“Yes,” was all Mairon could say. It came out as a throaty whisper, and he felt Melkor grin against his neck. He didn’t care. For once he loved the closeness, relished it for everything it was, and it took great effort not to let his head fall back onto Melkor’s shoulder to lose himself in these new sensations coming solely from within and from without. He felt he would burst into flame and it was magnificent.

“Wonderful. Now,” Melkor murmured, turning his face just slightly so he was pressed a bit more to Mairon’s neck, “that fire in your chest, pull it down through one of your arms. It may take some effort, but you will succeed.”

Mairon raised his right arm, felt the burning fire well and flow in his chest, and, after only a bit of coaxing, it began travel down the stream of energy flowing through his arm toward his fingers. It spun there, up and down his arm, in a loop so glorious and hot under his flesh, he felt as though he could already see flames. He turned his face, nudging his cheek to whatever part of Melkor’s face was presented there - he wasn’t truly sure, overwhelmed with other things in that moment - in a silent appeal for him to continue when he found himself unable to speak. 

“It is fire under the layers of your skin, Mairon,” Melkor told him patiently. “And your skin is merely a part of your corporeal body that will shift as you require it to. Pull the fire through to the outside of your hand.”

Mairon took another deep breath and turned his focus entirely to his hand and the energy coursing there. He closed his eyes, imagining it in his mind, the layers of skin, the brightness of the fire just beneath, and the necessity of it to slip from below to above. It was warm, like sinking into a hot bath heated so wonderfully with coal-boiled water, and suddenly -

“Perfection,” Melkor’s word slipped into his ear. “You are perfection, Mairon.”

Mairon’s eyes fluttered open to see his raised hand wreathed in such beautiful flame. It tickled in a most pleasant way, and the fire was familiar and happy against his skin. “Oh,” he breathed, breaking into a truly happy smile. “Oh! It worked!”

Melkor’s hands fell away from him as he stepped forward with a dizzying little bounce to lower his hand into the hearth. The flame fed into the kindling immediately, catching and spreading until the fire was a satisfying warmth around them. It felt natural to remove the fire from his hand by simply loosening the inner connection until it vanished only a second later, and he gently fed larger and larger logs to the growing fire to keep it going. 

He slowly stood again, no longer dizzy yet still feeling the tingling along his nerves even as the blazing inside his soul returned to its more normal simmer. He looked at Melkor, who had not moved from his position nearby, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with everything that had just passed. Gratitude surged forward, chased with a small amount of fear at what he had done. The fear fled quickly to be replaced with tingling thrill and the beginnings of endless possibilities only just beginning to form in his mind.

“The intensity of the effects will diminish every time you pull your fire forth in any capacity,” the Vala supplied helpfully, taking a step forward. “And the effects now will fade in just a few more minutes.”

Mairon nodded as he allowed this additional information to parse through his mind, glancing around at the forge now as it glowed cheerfully with so much light from the fire. His eyes found Melkor’s again quickly. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I have not said that yet, have I?”

“No,” Melkor chuckled in agreement, “though I suppose such a thing is not truly necessary.”

“Do you really mean for me to use this whenever I wish to?” Mairon asked, still feeling hesitation at such a grand gesture. The idea of having a space like this for his own use, one that was his and his alone...it was something he had never considered in the past, and he found it difficult to consider now. He grasped his right hand, the one that had been lit aflame, tightly with his left.

Melkor reached out and ran his fingers along Mairon’s cheek, turning his gaze up. “Whenever you wish. This is yours.”

They stared at one another for a moment in silence, Melkor’s hand moving to cup Mairon’s cheek in his palm, the coolness of his skin soothing against the blazing warmth of Mairon’s own. His fingers curled against the side of Mairon’s skull and the heel of his palm gently tipped Mairon’s chin back so his face was being tilted upward, their eyes still held together. Suddenly, though Mairon could not say with truth that it was entirely unexpected, Melkor leaned forward and pressed their lips together. 

It was not the first kiss they had shared, and a handful more had follow that first - in total, he imagined, there had been perhaps three or four fleeting and quick as Melkor’s fancies, and just as turbulent with their touch - but the others...were not like this.

Mairon tensed, waiting for teeth or a rough pull from the hand already in his hair, but neither came. Instead Melkor’s mouth parted ever so slightly against his to tug just so, gentle and coaxing at his bottom lip. But Mairon held still, unmoving and too surprised to react in any other way, and Melkor pulled away again with the glitter of something bright shining in his eyes.

“Is this my payment, then?” Mairon asked softly before Melkor could release him. 

The hand on his cheek slid down his neck with those words and Melkor’s eyebrows furrowed, little wrinkles of dismay forming between them. “No, Mairon,” he murmured, remaining close enough that his breath still broke upon the Maia’s face. “No, whatever happens, all of this is your _choice_. I will not force anything upon you. Your will should always ever be your own.”

Mairon was silent, feeling Melkor’s eyes upon his face and his hand still resting on the side of his neck. “What…” 

He paused, raising his gaze until gold met the bright blue of Melkor’s. There had been something unspoken and yet so very clear in that statement, and receiving clarification was both something he desired and something he feared. But he did not look away, and Melkor stared back at him just as intently.

It was the same as before. The same dance, the same vague answers and double-edged words. Mairon grinned as this familiar net wove around them, his lips turning up just slightly as his heart gave a pleased thud against his ribs. He heard the unspoken, unasked question, the invitation, and this time he did not need to ask in return.

“I need to return to Almaren before I am missed,” he said instead, watching as Melkor frowned with genuine displeasure at the abrupt change in subject. “I’m sorry I was not able to stay long enough to create something this evening in my new forge. Soon, though, I promise.” Melkor opened his mouth to speak, but Mairon did not give him the chance, leaning up and kissing him again quite soundly, going so far as to weave the fingers of one hand through that thick mane of black hair that fell over Melkor’s shoulder.

This time it was Melkor who froze with surprise, clearly not expecting such a turn of the tables, though Mairon pulled away before the Vala was able to react with more than a sharp inhale against Mairon’s mouth. 

It was the first time he had done such a thing himself, and he pursed his lips firmly for a moment, rather pleased with himself, and said succinctly, “I have already made my choice, if you must know. It is merely a matter of technicalities and discerning possibilities at this point.”

“And what choice have you made?” Melkor asked, his tone low and growling with frustration. “You vile creature, tormenting me so.”

Mairon took a step back out of Melkor’s loosening grasp, glancing around the glowing room once more with a little smile pulling across his teeth. The thought of this place, this fortress in the snow and mountains - it no longer held quite the unfamiliar, distant chill it had before. It was filled now with warmth and fire and, perhaps, the smallest glint hope there amongst the leaping flames of his hearth. 

He laughed then when Melkor made a disgruntled sound from behind him and began to move away toward the door, waving his hand with a dismissive flourish as though the question just asked held no importance at all. 

He felt more free in that moment than he had in a very long time.

“Perhaps,” he murmured with relish as his voice poured smooth as molten gold from grinning lips, “it should be a _surprise_ , since you enjoy those so terribly much.”


End file.
